


The Truth Can't Hurt You (It's Just Like The Dark)

by nonnymouse



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnymouse/pseuds/nonnymouse
Summary: In a world where Jack and Bitty weren't on the same hockey team, Jack is stalking Bitty.





	The Truth Can't Hurt You (It's Just Like The Dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kinkmeme prompt:
> 
> "Jack/Bitty Stalking and Somnophilia
> 
> We know that in canon Jack talks about Bitty a lot and takes his pictures. I want a Jack who's a stranger to Bitty and he's stalking him, having fantasies about him, taking all sorts of pictures, and entering into his place and groping him, and fucks him without Bitty realizing who he is. Bitty can sense someone watching him and he may or may not want it, but he does do stuff to provoke his stalker like not wearing underwear and sleeping with his legs spread apart on his porch. Sometimes he wakes up with cum inside him."
> 
> https://omgkinkplease.dreamwidth.org/586.html?thread=199242
> 
> Title from Elvis Costello.

Bitty knows fear.

He’s scared of being himself. He’s scared of bullies. He’s scared of being hit. He’s scared of the future. He’s scared he’ll die alone, unloved and worthless. It’s a lot. Mostly, he tries to ignore these things and focus on making his jam better than Moo Maw’s.

But this is a more personal kind of fear, and no amount of baking can distract him from the photos that show up everywhere. Even in his dorm room, which he keeps locked all the time. He doesn’t even know how the guy got photos of him showering in the locker room. He’d have noticed a camera. He’s looking for them now, everywhere.

When his uncle who always smells like beer sends a mass text for anyone to come watch his house while he goes on vacation, Bitty replies in a heartbeat. He’ll disappear, and his stalker will get distracted and lose interest.

* * *

It didn’t work.

Bitty arrives in Atlanta, then drives out to the boonies. For the first time in months he feels safe. It’s wide open around him, the stars the only thing watching him from the black sky.

The peace lasts until he goes out for groceries the next morning and finds a photo of himself stuck under the windshield wiper. He’s smiling, even as he struggles to pull his laden suitcase up the porch steps. _You look happy_ , his stalker wrote on the back. It’s as freakishly banal and short as all the stalker’s notes.

* * *

It’s frustrating to live life this way, which is why Bitty does it.

He knows he shouldn’t escalate. That it’s dangerous. But he only knows that when he’s thinking.

His dorm key—there’s so many ways to get it. The RAs have access to copies, after all, and it’s not like a slightly older college student is the epitome of security. But no one should have keys lying around for his uncle’s place. And the porch is screened, as is necessary to enjoy the great outdoors of Georgia for more than five seconds without dying of bug bites.

So Bitty sleeps outside on the porch swing. In nothing but his thin cotton nightshirt, legs naturally spread wide for air.

He wants his stalker to be as frustrated as he is.

* * *

That’s not what happens.

Bitty wakes up feeling sore. At first, he thinks it’s from spending all night in the porch swing. It’s a little small, even for someone of Bitty’s height.

But then he sits up and feels something wet trickle down his thigh.

He inches his nightshirt up slowly, not wanting to see the proof. But once he does see it, he moves fast, running inside and locking the deadbolt behind him. He knows the locks do nothing against his stalker, but he still feels better with that bolt between him and what's waiting.

He goes straight for the shower, desperate to get rid of the evidence and pretend it never happened.

His stalker does know him well. The pictures are taped to the shower wall beneath the head, so Bitty doesn’t see them until he’s already under the spray.

His sleeping face, twisted with pleasure.

 _I love you_ , says one. _Thanks_ , says another.

Bitty slides his fingers into his hole with easy familiarity, although the soreness, the used feeling is new. He sobs as he fucks himself with his fingers.

He deserves how it hurts, for being so stupid.

He wonders if his stalker is photographing this, too.


End file.
